A preface: as a young married man I lived hard. I drank myself nearly to death, was resentful of everyone who I perceived didn't have to work as hard as I did; lived my life of rage and fear with a violent intensity. I'd trampled all of my friendships, pushed my trusting and loving wife so far from me that her next step would be back to the safety of her parents. I drank to feel good, to celebrate, and I drank to drown my pain. I'd broken a promise to my baby child, the last decent one I had to make, that at least I'd be a good father, and knew that I was just a husk of a man. Bled out, and marking days until one of the inevitable occurred: death, an institution, or prison, I believed that God had marked me down on the damned list. I didn't even care. That I still believed in God made the story you're reading possible.
I worked in NYC, in a nice office, soon to go, and like many young exec's had perks. Everyday a man named, Billy, would walk the office floor shining our shoes. On this day, I was in the early going of alcohol recovery, which I don't believe I have the strength to ever experience again. It's so brutal, that most people who are like what I was like, do it in a hospital under 24 hour watch, for several months.
Anyway there I was sweating and twisted nice and tight. Billy was shining my shoes and talking to me about his life, My head felt like it was split down the middle. Other times, when I'd already have had a half a bag on, Billy and I would have been chatting, most likely about the Bible.
I studied philosophy in college and had done work on comparative religions, so I knew the Book fairly well. We used to talk quite a bit about both the Old and New Testaments. He was a lay minister at Pentecostal church in Queens. He knew his stuff, and I was respectful of his beliefs. This day, I didn't want to talk. But Billy sure did. He was wearing a ridiculous tie because later that day he was going to be in family court. My temper was getting shorter and shorter as he spoke, not because of what he was saying, but I wanted him to hurry-up and leave, just shut up so that I could be sick in my wastebasket.
Billy continued to blab, on and on, about how the Good Lord, Jesus Christ would give Billy his child. Billy was not married, except in the common law sense, and his wife was a crack whore anyhow, and according to Billy never home to take care of his child, one of God's children. He described his wife as evil. BILLY JUST WOULD"T SHUT-UP!!!!
I'd finally had enough. Perhaps if I just gave him the benefit of some good common sense he'd shut up, particularly if I used the Bible against him.
"Billy, You pray to Jesus so that He'll give you back your son?"
"Uh huh",he answered.
"And you think any right thinking judge will take a child from it's mother and give him too you. YOU'RE NOT EVEN MARRIED! YOU HAVE NO PROOF THAT THAT KID IS EVEN YOURS. YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE A JOB!!!! BILLY, WHAT DOES THE PRAYER SAY?!!!"
Billy looked sad. It was working, "What prayer", he asked.
"The LORD'S PRAYER it says'...thy will be ,done.' It doesn't say Billy's will be done!"
He stopped buffing my shoes. His big sad brown eyes cut my like broken glass through skin, "Brother," he said, "He's speaking through you."
Then he hugged me. "Colin, I know you hurt, and I know you don't really mean to hurt me. But you're right. 'Cause that's how He works, though people. Sometimes, even when we just bein' mean. He speak right through us. He spoke to me through you."
I think I cried, too. God grant that some poor soul knows what I'm talking about. I don't like to tell this story. I did pray that He might make me aware next time, so that I don't always have to be a jerk, God bless you all, Colin
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